Renaissance Love
by Nisse720
Summary: 15th century Michaela and Sully have fallen in love, hiding their true identities from one another, and must say goodbye, forced as they are into arranged marriages. How will they live apart? For the Feb 2010 challenge.


My first story – so have grace on me :) but please feel free to offer me your advice!

Written for the February challenge in a few short hours. The images pictured Michaela in costume for Romeo & Juliet, and Sully in costume as a prince. So I thought, "why not write an AU in Renaissance times?" And this is the story that came to me. No attempts at historical accuracy were made. I just didn't care, nor did I want to take the time. It's all about the love, anyway! I'm sure I blasted through the word limit, but I did try to keep it short, and refrained from many of my rambling thoughts.

I hope you enjoy this!

And of course, Michaela and Byron Sully do not belong to me.

* * *

Michaela stepped hurriedly through the forest, the palace fading in the distance, pulling the pins out of her hair as she went. She couldn't contain her sense of urgency. She had just learned she was promised to marry an English Lord in two weeks time, an arrangement that would benefit both families. She had resisted the match, having found her true love as she walked alone in disguise through the countryside one day, but alas, her family would not hear of it. And what could she do? If she ran away with him, they would have nowhere to go, no way to survive. He was a peasant, and he had no idea of her wealth and status. She had told him her name was Anne; Michaela was too recognizable.

This would be the last time she would see him, and she was frantic to prolong this final meeting as long as she could. Stepping out into the clearing that had become their sacred place, a temple for their love, she saw him, standing as strong and straight as ever, his sapphire eyes filled with sadness and compassion.

She stood on the edge of the clearing, looking a part of the very nature that surrounded her. Eyes the color of leaf and limb, hair falling in loose curls reflecting the auburn and copper of the forest floor. If not for the heavy black cloak the draped her shoulders in sorrow, she could have been a woodland fairy.

He strode towards her, and looking into her large eyes, he saw they were bright with tears. He quickened his pace and gathered her against him, holding her close and burying his face in her hair. She in turn pressed her face into his neck, trying desperately to absorb his solid warmth, his scent.

"I love you" he whispered against her hair; "I always will." He pressed a soft kiss, a caress, to her neck.

She closed her eyes, pressing closer into him. "I love you too. I'll remember you every day."

He began to kiss her then. Slow, sweet kisses to her neck, ear and jaw, before pressing kiss after kiss to her lips. Their love was true and pure, and though they had never consummated their love, their souls had united months ago, in this secret place. Her slender form felt even smaller than usual under the heavy cloak, and he held her closer, regretting that he would have to leave her to marry another. They drank passionately of one another for some time, savoring these final moments.

The beautiful peasant girl in his arms had no idea he was Lord Byron of Sully. He knew she would never have given him more than a timid curtsy had she known. Fortunately, he had made it his habit to roam the countryside in peasant's clothes, giving him the freedom to do as he pleased without stepping around the social constraints of his position.

Over the last several months, they had fallen deeply in love, as well had they become intimate friends. Neither had ever before, likely would they never again, know such closeness with another person. They would meet in secret and talk for hours, exchanging chaste yet passion-filled kisses before parting to go back to their privileged, solitary lives, unknown to the other.

Feeling her tears mingle with their kisses, Byron reluctantly broke away, her face cradled in his large hands. They needed to talk.

"Anne, you know I will love you all of my days. I want to be with you. But more than any of that, I want you to be happy." A tear rolled down her cheek, her heart breaking at his selflessness. "I want you to try to be happy with your husband, to love your children with everything you've got."

"Oh Byron, I…I don't know how, but I'll try." She reached up, touching his cheek sadly, and she looked into his sorrowful eyes. "I want the same for you." The words were forced, but heartfelt.

He pressed his eyes shut, trying to maintain control of his emotions. He wanted to collapse under the weight of this love, this sorrow. He gathered her up again, and they embraced for a long while, whispering assurances of their love amidst gentle, heartfelt kisses.

Coming to the far edge of the forest, the pair stopped and turned toward one another. She had wound her hair back up, pinning it in place. Her horse awaited her there. Raising her hand to his lips, his eyes spoke of everything their words could not convey. She sighed, fresh tears filling her eyes. He too, let tears trickle down his cheek, and with one final squeeze of her fingers, he turned back into the woods and was gone.

Two weeks had passed. Byron walked slowly down the corridor toward the wedding chamber. The wedding had gone flawlessly, his brides heavily veiled form bringing him some relief; he hadn't had to face her, to hide from her his reluctance, during the ceremony. He had hardly caught a glimpse of her during the celebratory ball for all the courtisans who surrounded her. He had gladly stood aside with a few close friends, preferring not to think about the situation.

Now, he still didn't know what he would find when he entered the chamber. He shortly wondered if he would even be able to consummate this union; he didn't want any woman but Anne. If it came to it, he would have to imagine it was her. He felt guilty at the thought, but not being able to fulfill his duties would be worse than this small betrayal.

Entering the wedding chamber, he found his bride standing before the fire, the light of the flames casting her form in dark silhouette. He removed his sash and coast, lying them across a large, wingbacked chair, and loosened his cravat and collar.

She hadn't moved, yet she must have heard him enter. Was she as reluctant as he? He'd never considered her feelings, her past. A wave of compassion filled him. Gently, he touched her shoulder, feeling her trembling, and whispered the foreign name, one that would become more familiar someday than Anne's.

"Michaela?"

She flinched reflexively at the sound of his voice, eyes wide with surprise and disbelief. It couldn't be, could it? She had thought his name a cruel irony, one that would torment her forever. She hadn't been able to bring herself to look at him during the wedding or ball. And now, his voice, it was the same. Could it be him? Or was this more torture, punishment for her rebellious heart?

Turning slowly, she raised her eyes to his face, and her lips parted it shock.

"Byron" she whispered, unable to find her voice.

"Anne?"

"Yes. No, I… Anne is my second name, I… oh, Byron, it's really you?" The pieces all came together in that moment for both of them: their pretenses of peasanthood, her alias to cover a singular name, and his not needing one for a name so common in their time, and most importantly, their shared opinions of their statuses and shared life perspectives. They fell into each other's arms then, reveling in the extraordinary blessedness of their lives.

"Yes… I just… I can't believe it. I never thought—" he looked at her then, her eyes shining with joyful tears. He framed her face in his hands. "We're married" he breathed on a rush of air.

Speechless, she only bit her bottom lip and nodded eagerly, smiling. He kissed her then, his lips and tongue moving against hers in a passionate caress. And she melted into him, reveling in the passion they had so resisted until this moment, a moment they never thought would come.

The next morning, Michaela waited eagerly outside a hidden entrance to the estate. A moment later, Byron arrived in a carriage, his navy velvet jacket and blue sash accentuating the vibrant sapphire of his eyes. He wanted to take her away, so they could be alone, uninterrupted by servants, maids, and butlers.

Looking up at him, she thought she'd never seen him so happy, and neither had she ever felt as much joy as she did in this moment.

He held his hand out to her, and she drew herself up next to him, not knowing or caring where he was taking her, just content to be in the arms of her true love.

___________

_Fin_


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